LaBana Pages (for revision)
The greenest meadow on earth
The most vibrant love birds in liberty
made my love story in its sweetest possibility.
“You must parent your work,” you said.
“Good writer makes several mistakes…”
as if I was a kid when you coached me.
“…not including the mistake to correct it!”
I was so blessed to have an editor like you
In my emotional tidal waves you are in a rescue.
I indulged myself into writing my love story
- You suggested it, I followed.
Until I’m done and all the smiles are in my system
And the melody of life sings with my heart’s content.
“Good job!” you said.
As a writer I need to submit my final draft
And let you maneuver every characters and plot.
You were in a silent room in front of a monitor.
You thought I wasn’t observing you behind your unlocked doors.
I witnessed how you keenly read every line of my story.
You laughed, I smiled
You lifted your brows, I groaned
You looked at the ceiling with glow in your eyes
So I looked down the floor with my furtive tears.
I never imagined that everything will turn grey
as you edit my work so ruthlessly.
And now every scene is a puzzle to me
So I can’t recognize my pen but you
And the grandeur of my story became yours.
And what makes me sad is when you changed its title.
I have your consent to name it “The Melody In His White Guitar”
But you altered every word to “Brokeback Mountain: In Its Par”
I thought I’ve created the best fairy-tale
But when you had a chance you seized it.
And now the sweetest love story I imagined
Became the biggest joke in history.